The Black Cat's Cub
by ElliotJA
Summary: Alternate universe: Felicia Hardy, AKA Black Cat, has an 18 year old son. And one night, things get intense between them. WARNING: This story features incest between a mother and son, so please don't read if that kind of thing offends you.


My name is Toby Hardy. My mother is Felicia Hardy, and when I was just three years old, she became the cat burglar, and later hero, called the Black Cat.

Mom was barely eighteen years old, still in high school, when she had me. The piece of crap that got her pregnant - I refuse to call him my father - wanted nothing to do with us. Luckily, my grandmother on my mother's side was fairly well off, and she was there to help Mom through it all. After I was born, I lived with them in their house, happy and safe, wanting for practically nothing, including my Mom's love. She spent every moment she could with me, and I basked in her attention.

I didn't find out until I was older that my grandfather, who had died before I was born, had been a famous cat burglar, and that instead of being bothered by this, Mmom found it exciting and idolized him, to the point she started training herself to take up his profession when I was a year old. And my grandmother supported her, if you can believe it! So Mom prepared herself for the next two years, and then one night when I was three, I saw her in costume as the Black Cat for the first time. I sat on my grandmother's lap as she appeared in front of us, twirling round as she showed off her skintight black outfit complete with white, fur-topped gloves and boots, and black domino mask. Her long, platinum-blonde hair spilled down her back, and a V-cut in her outfit showed the top of her chest. She grinned proudly, and I laughed with delight, too young to realise all that was going on. At my laughter, Mom laughed too and came over to scoop me up in her arms, hugging and kissing me goodnight, before handing me back to my grandmother, who took me back to my room.

So I had witnessed the birth of the Black Cat. Like I said, I was really too young at the time to grasp what Mom actually got up to, but it made her happy, and that made me happy too. Though I do remember grandmother sometimes worrying for Mom's safety; it really was a miracle she was never seriously hurt. She hadn't been at it long before she met _him_: Spider-Man, as he called himself in those days, and - WHAM - she fell for him hard, even though his status as a costumed hero made them enemies at first. It took some effort and patience on his part, but eventually he was able to convince her to go straight, be a hero like him and protect people. Her life could still be dangerous, but on the whole, I think Spider-Man helped us all.

Of course, I adored my mother. But as I grew older, and started approaching my teenage years and developing an interest in girls and sex as all boys do, I found myself looking at Mom in her costumed role in a new light, one that made me a little uneasy. I'd see her in her outfit, notice how tightly it clung to the curves of her body, the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders and back and, little by little...well... I began to feel aroused. My mother was undeniably gorgeous; I'd heard boys at school, as well as guys in the street, talking about her with excitement and lust, and now here I was feeling that lust myself! Now I know some people would say that it's nothing to feel bad about, that it's natural, but I felt incredibly ashamed at having these thoughts toward my own parent, and so I struggled to bury them as best I could, never telling anyone. But I saw Mom all the time, and the thoughts wouldn't leave me, especially when I saw her in her outfit.

My desire remained my secret. It was around this time that Spider-Man joined the Avengers at the invitation of Captain America. He asked Mom to join too, but she turned the offer down, wanting more freedom, though she still fought at his side occasionally. When Captain America was killed in his last battle with the Red Skull, Spidey decided he owed it to him to take his place, taking up Cap's unbreakable shield and renaming himself American Spider. But then the creature called Morlun appeared, from where no one knows, and in the battle that followed, he killed American Spider, draining his life energy like some kind of vampire. Mom, and other heroes, arrived on the scene too late to do anything, and Morlun had already disappeared; no one ever saw him again, and all Mom could do was collapse sobbing over the broken body of the man she loved.

I was with Mom at the funeral for Peter Parker, the man behind the mask of Spider-Man and American Spider. All of his team-mates from the Avengers attended too, naturally, along with the Fantastic Four. Hell, even J. Jonah Jameson, who'd always claimed to hate Spidey, appeared looking sombre. I remember holding my mother's hand as the coffin was lowered into the ground. I also remember the feel of the long, black satin gloves she wore, and sneaking a glance at her in her dark, short and tight dress, and mentally cursing myself for having such thoughts about her at this moment in time.

After Spidey's death, Mom spent more time superheroing as the Black Cat than ever, sometimes even being gone nearly entire days, hardly eating, hardly sleeping. I understood that she felt she owed it to Spider-Man's memory, but I began to worry about how much she was pushing herself. Then one night, just a few days after my eighteenth birthday, I stirred to consciousness on the couch in the front room where I'd earlier dozed off, and noticed the light on in the kitchen. Wearing just a light T-shirt and boxer shorts, I got to my feet and stumbled into the kitchen to find Mom standing at the open door of the fridge and peering inside. Jerking my eyes away from her shapely ass sticking out, I said "Mom?"

She turned round at the sound of my voice and, with a tired smile, murmured "Hey, sweetie, you okay?"

"Just woke up," I replied as she withdrew a carton of milk from the fridge, nudged the door closed and walked over to a cabinet to grab a glass, wincing slightly as she moved and grasping her right side. "Are you alright?" I asked as I approached her. She nodded in response, pouring the milk into the glass, and i now noticed the bruise next to her eye, the small cut above it. "Jeez, Mom," I exclaimed, "you're hurt!"

"It's nothing," she said quickly, "just had a tussle with a gang of drug dealers, that's all. They won't be on the streets again for a while, I can tell you." She took a gulp of the milk.

"And you need to stay off the streets for a while yourself," I told her. "Mom, you're pushing yourself way too hard, I'm scared it's gonna kill you."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she suddenly snapped, whirling to face me. "I'm the Black Cat, damn it, and that's not changing any time soon, certainly not on your sayso! So get the fuck off of my back!" I have to admit, I was angry myself now, and ready to shout my Mom back down, when I saw her shut her eyes, put her free hand over her face, and heard her sob "Oh, God...I'm sorry, Toby."

The anger and resentment I felt did not vanish immediately, but as I watched her crying and shaking, it slowly disappeared, until I finally reached out, gently grasped her shoulder and said "It's okay...I love you."

Her hand shook slightly as it placed the half-empty glass of milk on the counter. She now sent it to softly touch my face, while saying "I don't know what I'd do without you, Toby." She leaned in then and kissed my cheek; the kiss lingered, as did the softness of her gloved hand against my other cheek, and I felt my arousal building as I yearned for both kiss and glove to stay. Then both were gone, and she said "I'm gonna patch up my wounds now, try to get some shut-eye. See you soon, honey."

After that, I went back to my own room. Despite the intense whirlwind of emotions in my head triggered by my mother, exhaustion overtook me as soon as my head touched the pillow and I was out like a light. When I awoke it was still dark. My head faced my bedside clock, and I saw by its illuminated screen that it was just a few hours before dawn; I'd not been asleep for long. I would have gone straight back to sleep, were it not for some vague feeling that I was not alone. Not knowing what to expect, I reached out to switch on my bedside lamp, and in its amber light I gasped to see my mother, sat just beside me on the bed. "Mom?" I blurted, still only half awake.

"I'm sorry, Toby," I heard her say. "I just...had to be near you." It was then that my vision clarified, and I heard myself gasp as I realised Mom was wearing only a short, silk dressing gown, barely fastened at the waist, and silk panties above her long, slender legs. I felt sexual hardness begin to take hold of me, but I fought to retain control as she moved closer to me, the warmest and most loving smile on her gorgeous face. "Toby..." Her voice was a husky breath as she suddenly placed her hand on my arm and traced her fingers slowly up to my shoulder, then my neck, then my hair, causing my breath to freeze in my throat.

The sight of her, the smell of her, the feel of her...It all overwhelmed me at that moment and, surrendering to the darkest passions, I grabbed her and kissed her full on the lips, grinding my stiff rod against her nether-area through the thin fabric of our undergarments. "Mom, I'm sorry," I gasped, "I'm so, so sorry...but you're Black Cat, and..." My voice failed me then, but looking into her face at that precise instant, I knew she felt no shame, and any I had swiftly evaporated in the delicious heat of our mutual lust. That same lust now took me over completely as I frantically tugged off my boxer shorts, exposing my penis. With a soft gasp, Mom tugged her undies aside and within the moment, I had entered her, crying out in ecstacy as I did so.

Mom kissed me again, and said "The Black Cat has claimed you...now you claim her!" And so we moved together, myself fighting to hold my explosion back as the combined bliss/agony built up. I looked into her eyes as I pumped away, and Mom hised "Do it, sweetie...let it go, into the Black Cat! Don't be scared...c'mon!" I remember my seed spilling out then, and both Mom and I hugging one another tightly and panting hoarsely as I continued shooting. After I was spent, we looked into one another's eyes again. Neither of us spoke; I knew such a union as this would never occur between us again, but tonight would never be forgotten. We were mother and son...and she was a hero. _My _hero.


End file.
